Survivors
by Trillian Astra
Summary: Post-NFA, those who survived are figuring out what to do next. AU in terms of the season 6 comics. Spoilers for the second half of season 5. Mention of character death. Standard Disclaimer applies. Please Review!
1. Chapter 1

**Fandom:** "Angel"

**Spoilers****:** Let's say everything, shall we? Basically, if you haven't seen the second half of season Five, you will be spoiled.

**Principal Characters****:** Spike, Illyria, Lindsey (this chapter). Later on, those three will be joined by Connor, Nina-the-werewolf, Eve and maybe some characters from BtVS.

**Summary****:** It's the aftermath of the battle in "Not Fade Away". Spike and Illyria are holed up at the hotel, Angel's M.I.A, and things do not look good for the non-demonic population of LA. And the Powers That Be have plans for our favourite evil-handed morally ambiguous lawyer, Lindsey McDonald.

Also: I haven't read the Season 6 comics, so this is probably highly AU. It'll also be AU for the BtVS season 8 comics.

**Rating****:** T, for violence and swearing, and mention of character death.

**A Final Note:** So, this is my first Angel fanfic. I like constructive criticism, and reviews are great. Please be nice!

Edited for misspelling Lindsey's name. Oops.

**Survivors**

Prologue

The pain fades with his vision, and all is dark and silent. Then there is a light, and a voice, talking to him.

_Poor child._

"Excuse me?"

_Your life ended before it was supposed to. Your destiny incomplete._

"What?" The voice is soft, gentle… it sounds like it should belong to someone's mother, it's kind and caring and infinitely patient. "Where am I?"  
_You passed over._

"Right, I died. The green guy shot me, I know that. What is this? Who are you?"

He reflects that asking who he was talking to might not have been wise… he can't even see who he's talking to. And, he notices, he doesn't exactly have a body at the moment, so communication must be more like telepathy than speech.

_We are the Powers That Be, Lindsey McDonald. And We have chosen you as Our Emissary._

"You what? _The_ Powers that be?"  
_Yes._ The Voice now sounds faintly exasperated, like a parent with a troublesome child.

"So… what do you want with me?"  
_You shall be Our emissary in the mortal world. You will pass on warnings and portents when We send them to you._

"Pass them on to who?"  
_You will see._

"Okay, don't tell me. Why me? Are you sure you're talking to the right person here?"

_We know all, Lindsey McDonald. We see everything. We know everything you have ever done, and everything you feel in the deepest corners of your heart._

"So… why me?"  
_Many of your actions on earth, in the service of the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart, could be considered evil, this is true. But you have the spark of potential in you._

"Potential to what?"

_The potential to be a great man. A great hero. To redeem yourself._

"Wait… are you talking about Champions? Are you sure you shouldn't be talking to Angel right now? Or Spike even? Because I really don't think I'm Champion material."

_The Powers do not make mistakes. You have the potential to be a Champion, though your future is unclear._

"Great. So I'm a potential champion. I'm also dead."

_This did not escape Our notice. Your mortal body shall be healed and restored to life, that you might act for Us on earth._

"What's the catch?"

_Catch?_

"You're just going to send me back to "act for you"… what aren't you telling me?"

_You will receive Visions of the future. We have had other Emissaries who have received such Visions. They passed on the information they saw to the Champion, Angel. It is Our intention that you do the same._

"Angel survived the fight?"

_This is unclear. He is hidden from Our sight. If it is revealed that he did not survive, you will find the Champion known as Spike, and assist him in Angel's place._

"Well this just gets better and better. When does this start?"

_Now._

He doesn't get the chance to say anything else. He's pulled away from wherever-the-hell-he-was, and his eyes fly open as he gasps for air, filling his lungs again.

When he's regained some kind of composure, he looks around. He's still in the room where he died. His sword lies on the ground nearby, where he dropped it. He picks it up and wipes the blade clean. It's light now… broad daylight actually. He guesses it's somewhere around midday. Seeing as it was early evening when he died, he guesses that it has been at least a day, and probably a couple of days, since then. He wonders how many of the others survived.

He remembers that he was shot, and looks down at his shirt… sure enough, two bloody holes in the fabric mark the places where he was hit, but there are no wounds underneath them. He shrugs. New clothes can always be found later. Right now he's got work to do.

Taking his sword, he tooks one last look at the place where he was killed – and by a _flunky_, no less. It's a decidedly unimpressive room. Next time, he decides, he'll try and make sure he dies somewhere better. Hell, the Powers seem to think he's a champion… maybe the next time he dies he'll be doing something big and honourable, saving the world from some demon or other. Part of him thinks that maybe that wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

_-(spacespacespace)-_

Forty-eight hours earlier

Angel stands in an alleyway in the rain, the last of his friends – Gunn, Spike, Illyria – beside him, and a whole army of demons and monsters in front of them.

He raises his sword. Eyes the army one more time. Knows that this might be the day he dies.

"Let's go to work."

Twenty-four hours later

Most of the real fighting has stopped by now. They killed more demons than they'd hoped to. Those that remain fight amongst themselves and stalk the streets of Los Angeles, terrorising the humans who didn't have the sense to leave town.

Spike runs. Dodging ferocious demons and making his way back towards the hotel, having decided that the W&H offices are probably not a safe place to be right now. Granted, the whole of L.A. falls into the category of "not safe" right now, but the offices are right at the top of his mental "bad places to be" list.

He makes it to the alley behind the hotel. The same alley where they'd started this, twenty-four hours earlier. He stops – to catch his breath, if he had any, but he doesn't. He stops because he's been running and fighting for hours and he's using this moment of apparent peace to just stand still again.

Spike never really appreciated standing still until today. He leans against the wall – another activity that is now a luxury – and wonders what happened to the others. Gunn was the first to fall, he knows that. At first he and Angel and Illyria tried to stick together, watching each other's backs, and it lasted for a while.

A good thirty minutes, at least. Then they were split up. In the hours since then, he caught only glimpses of Illyria's hair (can't miss that blue anywhere) or Angel's duster as they fought. He hopes that they made it too, for admittedly selfish reasons. He figures that the next few days – maybe even weeks or months – are going to be pretty crap, and he doesn't want to face it alone. Things like this are always better when you've got a friend around to watch your back.

"Spike."

He looks up. Illyria stands at the opening of the alley, where it joins the road. She's a mess. She's bleeding from several wounds on her arms and thighs and abdomen, and that long, brown-and-blue hair is tangled and filthy and matted with blood in places. She still holds her sword – the blade drips with demon blood. She walks over to him. He's not sure, but she seems to walk more carefully that before – probably trying not to aggravate her injuries.

"You made it then, Blue."

"Yes. I survived. I vanquished many foes."  
"Don't s'pose you've seen Angel, have you?"

She shakes her head. "No. Not since I last saw you. I thought you might be together."

"Nah, I ain't seen 'im for hours."

"Oh. This is not good, is it?"

"No, love, it ain't. But right now we need to find somewhere to hole up, patch ourselves up and figure out what to do next."

"That plan is acceptable to me."

"Good. This hotel place…" he gestures at the building behind them "…it was their base, before they took over Wolfram & Hart. I reckon there might be some stuff left, things we can get ourselves patched up with. An' it used to be a hotel, so at least there oughta be beds and whatever. An' I for one could really use a shower."

"We shall check the hotel then."

They look around warily, checking that the area remains safe, then quickly run around the building and enter through the main doors. It's still empty, still just the way that Angel and his friends left it. Illyria looks around, curious. She's never been here before, but she retains some of Fred's memories of this place. She walks to what used to be the reception desk, and searches underneath it, soon finding an old first-aid kit.

"Spike. Here. I found medical supplies."

He looks over. "How did you know where… oh." He looks at her. "Fred's memories, yeah?"

"Correct. Winifred Burkle knew that the supplies were there. I retain much of her memory."

"Right. Well, thanks for finding it, anyway."

They spend the next hour or so cleaning up and binding their wounds. Spike has to explain the concept of a shower to Illyria… back when she had all of her powers, she didn't get dirty. She cottons on pretty quickly (after all, a stupid god-king doesn't get to be god-king for very long, and Illyria was around for a _long_ time), and while she's washing he goes looking for clothes she can wear – her leather outfit is badly damaged, and they have nothing to repair it with. In the end he finds a plain, white shirt, a pair of old denim jeans, a few t-shirts, a short skirt and an old pair of trainers, in a room that looks like it was once a locker-room for the hotel's staff. He takes it all, not knowing what she'll want.

In the end she chooses the jeans, the trainers and a plain black t-shirt. He thinks (too late) about underwear, but doesn't fancy having to explain the concept of a bra as well, so he lets it go. He helps her bind her wounds, then has a shower of his own.

When they're both clean and bandaged, they set up camp in the seating area of the hotel lobby. Illyria finds some tins of food that got left in the kitchens (not that either of them is hungry), and candles for light, and Spike raids the mini-bars of several rooms until he's collected a generous armful of miniatures. He doesn't like the tiny bottles they put in mini-bars, but this is the best he can get, so he's grateful anyway.

They wait. Wait for someone, anyone, to arrive. Wait for Angel to get there. Spike thinks that Angel would have the same idea as he did… that the W&H offices are too dangerous, so the hotel is safer. Illyria is not certain. His reasoning seems faulty, but she does not mention that. She is learning that sometimes it is acceptable to lie, to make people feel better. Allowing Spike to think that Angel would have the same idea as him is a form of lie. She herself thinks that it is unlikely that Angel still exists at all. If he did, he would have come looking for them by now. But she keeps this to herself.

They pass the time in their own ways. They don't have a great deal to talk about. Spike drinks, emptying one miniature bottle at a time, and occasionally going off looking for more alcohol when he runs out. He offers some to Illyria, but she won't touch the poison that he likes to consume so much of. She passes her time in sitting, and pacing, and thinking.

She thinks of Wesley a lot of the time. She still feels the grief, pouring out of her. She wonders… when she was resurrected, is this how he felt over the loss of Winifred Burkle? Illyria thinks that perhaps it is, to a lesser extent. She has come to the conclusion that she does not care for grief. Over her time in this strange new world, she has experienced some things that she could be said to like.

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was one of those. She did not understand him… he grieved, and her presence, her very existence, seemed to pain him, yet he remained near her regardless. And she… at first she had seen him as just another insolent human. But then she came to almost _like_ him. She's not used to liking humans. In her day, humans were prey, playthings to be used and discarded. Now they ruled the planet.

She finds that Wesley was not the only human she had affection (of sorts) for. She feels the grief for Charles Gunn, also. He was wounded when they met in the alley. She saw him fall in battle – even wounded, he slew many demons before he fell.

She cares for the half-breeds, the vampires Angel and Spike, also (If someone had told her, in her days as ruler of all, that she would come to _care_ for a couple of half-breeds, she would have laughed, and then destroyed the insolent person who told her so). She found herself worrying about Angel's state of being… though she knew that logically, he was most likely to be dead. And afterwards, she found Spike still alive and they took shelter here in the hotel together. He told her about showers, and gave her clothes to replace her leather suit, and bound her injuries.

It's late – around midnight – when she hears someone approach. She looks at Spike. "Get up. Someone's here."

He pulls himself to his feet, and reaches for his discarded weapon before turning to the doors.

They watch as the doors open, and a solitary figure enters. They both entertain the thought that Angel has found them, but they are disappointed when the figure steps close enough for the candle-light to show his face. It isn't Angel. This person is far too young, still only a boy really. He wears a long, dark-coloured jacket and carries a rucksack, and he is armed. He looks from Illyria to Spike and back again.

"Where's Angel?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Note for Readers**: As far as the BtVS Season 8 comics are concerned, this story is AU. It will, however, utilise one element of the comics' storyline. What happens regarding that plot element will be entirely different from the events of the comics.

**Warning**: There's one instance of swearing in this chapter.

-_Previously-_

It's late – around midnight – when she hears someone approach. She looks at Spike. "Get up. Someone's here."

He pulls himself to his feet, and reaches for his discarded weapon before turning to the doors.

They watch as the doors open, and a solitary figure enters. They both entertain the thought that Angel has found them, but they are disappointed when the figure steps close enough for the candle-light to show his face. It isn't Angel. This person is far too young, still only a boy really. He wears a long, dark-coloured jacket and carries a rucksack, and he is armed. He looks from Illyria to Spike and back again.

"Where's Angel?"

_-(spacespacespace)-_

Illyria looks from the boy to Spike, and sees that Spike is a little the worse for wear (_how much of that poison has he imbibed?_ She thinks). She turns back to the boy.

"Angel is not here. Who are you, human boy?"

"I'm Connor. Angel's my father. I need to know if he's all right."

"Angel had a… son? Why did he not speak of this?"

"He wanted me to grow up normal. Now do you know where he is or not?"

"No. I have not seen him for several hours."

Connor was studying her face. "Wait… Fred? What's with the blue?"

"I am Illyria. Winifred Burkle was the previous occupant of this shell. She is gone. Though some of her memories remain… they were changed. You are not in them, but clearly you know of her.This is strange to me."

"You killed Fred? And stole her body?"

"I was resurrected, in a time and place not of my choosing. I was not able to choose a shell for myself. I did not purposefully kill anyone."

"Yeah. Okay, maybe that's true. I'll be watching you, though, 'Illyria'." He shot one last look at her, and went to sit down.

"So. What happened? I know about the demons marauding through the city, I had a job getting past them on my way here. What happened to my father… and Wesley… and Gunn?"

"Wesley is dead. Charles Gunn fell in battle. We do not know where your father is. We killed the members of the Circle of the Black Thorn, an organisation of powerful entities. The Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart unleashed an army of demons and monsters in retaliation. They did not want us to destroy the Circle."

"Oh."

"What will you do now, boy?"

"Keep looking for my father. And help in whatever way I can."

"That is very brave of you."

"What about you? You two just gonna sit here from now on?"

"We are waiting. For the situation to improve, or for Angel to return, or for some other person to advise us as to the most appropriate course of action."

"So you're just going to sit here? Huh."  
"Why? What would you suggest, boy?"

"Get out there. Help the humans who can't escape. Fight the demons. Maybe find my father. Actually do something that might help."

Illyria was about to reply, when Spike interrupted. "No good."

"Excuse me?"

"All that hero stuff you were talking about. It's no good." The bleach-blond vampire looked straight at him. "It's just us. We both got injured in the battle, and we were lucky to escape alive and in one piece, kid. And you… you're keen, and you've got weapons, but there are demons out there that would still tear you in two without blinking. And I don't think your dad would be too happy 'bout that, if we ever find him. So, very commendable, you wantin' to play hero, but really, don't. You'll just get yourself killed, and there'll be one less person around to fight the good fight."

Connor looks sullen, the way only a teenage boy can. After a long moment, he says "Yeah. I guess you're right.". He looks at the floor while he says it, not looking directly at Spike.

"Good kid. We'll figure something out. You just need to learn a little patience… how old are you, kid?"

"I'm 19. And my name is Connor, not 'kid'."  
"Touché. Yeah… if you're anything like I was when I was 19, patience is something you're a little short on."

Connor smiles, grudgingly. He stays in the hotel with the very-nearly-drunk vampire and the grieving, shaken god-king.

_-(spacespacespace)-_

Lindsey left the house, but stopped dead (metaphorically speaking) when he hit the street. Los Angeles had been devastated, or at least this street had been. Bodies – human and demon – lay in the street, many buildings were reduced to rubble.

"Fuck." He took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he needed to find out if any of Angel's group had survived. And then something happened to make everything worse. He doubled over in pain as a Vision came to him… he did his best to remember the images and words he was shown… and one word in particular: _Twilight_. When the pain passed, he straightened up, checked that he had his sword, and set off to find the others. The Powers had also shown him an abandoned hotel, the Hyperion. He recognised it from old W&H files as the base that Angel Investigations had once used, back when there _was_ an Angel Investigations. He figured that if anyone survived, they'd most likely head back there – familiar territory and all.

He makes his way to the hotel. It's not easy – it's getting dark, and the streets are populated by a lot more demons and vampires than normal. He kills more than one before he reaches the Hyperion. When he does arrive, his already blood-stained shirt is torn and smeared with what passes for blood in the demons he killed. He stops just outside the doors, catches his breath, pushes his hair back from his face.

He wonders what he's going to tell them. He can see the glow of candlelight and shadowy figures – three of them, he thinks – inside the hotel, so he knows someone survived. He takes a deep breath, adjusts his grip on his sword, and pushes the door open.

_-(spacespacespace)-_

Illyria whips around at the sound of the door opening. Connor is on his feet instantly. Spike manages to stand up and look threatening. They see the newcomer enter… again, it is not Angel.

This person is shorter, with longish hair that falls across his face. He looks tired and battle-stained… his clothes are torn and dirty. He carries a sword, in the easy manner of a man who knows how to use it and isn't afraid to.

Connor approaches him. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm looking for Angel." There's a slight Texan twang to his accent, almost hidden by years in L.A. "Is he here?"

"No. Who are you?"

He sighs. "Fine. My name is Lindsey McDonald. I was sent to help Angel, or whoever's left of his team if Angel's not around."

"How do you know my father?"

Lindsey looks at the agitated boy in front of him, and does the slightest of double-takes, though to his credit he hides it well. "You're… you're Connor…"

"Yeah. Answer my question."  
"We've come up against each other a few times in the past. And I helped him eradicate the Circle of the Black Thorn, before all this happened."

Connor looks to Illyria and Spike. "Is he telling the truth?"

Illyria nods curtly. "I recall his presence at Wolfram and Hart before the battle. He was sent to kill some demons, with the green-skinned one. After they left, I did not see either of them return."

"Right." He turns back to Lindsey. "So where were you, then? Did you just decide to find a nice safe place to hide until it was over?"

"I was dead, okay, kid?"

Now it's Connor's turn for a double-take. "You were _what_?"

"I was dead. The green guy, Lorne. He killed me. I'm fairly certain it was on Angel's orders."

"Lorne? No, he would never… what do you mean _on Angel's orders_?"

"Look, kid, your dad and I used to be enemies. He doesn't trust me. He's probably right not to. He told me what I wanted to hear, used me to destroy the Circle, and used Lorne to get rid of me. I was a loose end that needed tying up." He almost spits that last sentence, his face distorted with suppressed anger. It's evident that he feels strongly about that.

"So why come back here? If my father had you killed… why show up here wanting to help?"

"I told you, I was sent." He walks over to the nearest seat and sits down. "I died. My soul… went somewhere. I don't know where, there was light and a voice, some kind of presence. I think… the voice was some kind of representation of the Powers That Be. That's what it told me, anyway. It told me that I wasn't supposed to die yet, and that I was being sent back. And it told me I'd get visions, that I was supposed to use to help Angel, or whoever was still around." He leaves out the part about being a potential champion. He doesn't understand that himself yet.

"So what, the "powers that be" just send you visions of important stuff for you to pass on?"

"As far as I can tell, yeah."

"Had any visions yet?"

"Yeah. Do you want to know what I saw? Because I'm starting to think maybe waiting for Angel would be a better idea."

Illyria interrupts. She's been listening carefully to their conversation. "That may not be wise. It is not certain that Angel will return. If you have information, you should share it."

Spike is sitting slumped in an armchair. He looks up suddenly, recognising Lindsey for the first time. "You!"

Lindsey sees him. "Spike. I see you survived."  
"What're you doing here?"  
"Looking for Angel, but according to the kid he's not here."

"The kid's right. Haven't seen Angel in over a day now."

Connor butts in, looking indignant. "I do have a name, you know…" but he is cut off by Spike and Lindsey saying at the same time "Shut up, kid." He glowers at them and sits down.

"So, what d'you want with Angel then?"  
"The Powers That Be sent me. After your green friend Lorne killed me, they brought me back. With visions."

"Seems to me you said you had visions from the Powers before. 'Cept you were callin' yerself Doyle then, weren't you?"

"This is different. These are real."  
"Prove it."  
"I had one when I was coming here. Does the word Twilight mean anything to you?"

"Nah. You could've made that up, mate."

Lindsey shows Spike the bullet holes in his shirt (he's suddenly glad he didn't stop to look for new clothes). "See? That's where I was shot."

Spike looks from his face to the bullet holes. "All right. You were shot. Dunno 'bout this vision of yours though. You see anything beside "twilight"?"

"Yeah." Lindsey looks around, finding a pencil and a scrap of paper. He sketches a rough symbol – a straight line, a curve, a star. "That symbol might just mean 'twilight', it might mean something else. But whatever it is, it means something big is going to happen."  
"Bigger than what already happened?"  
"Much. And there's something else."  
"Oh?"

"Slayers. I saw Slayers. And a girl… not a Slayer, but she's familiar with them. Part of their organisation, but she's young. Around eighteen years old, maybe."

"What's this girl look like?"

Lindsey closes his eyes, remembering his vision. "Tall. Long brown hair. Blue eyes. She has an air of… innocence around her, but at the same time she feels much older than she looks. It's as if she used to be something else, something very, very old."

"Oh." Spike knows who the girl is. "I know this girl, mate. Or I think I do. How sure are you about this?"  
"I'm sure. Why?"  
"The girl… her name is Dawn Summers. She's Buffy Summers' little sister, and she's the Key. Or she used to be, it's complicated."


	3. Chapter 3

**Note for Readers:** This chapter I'm taking a little break from Spike, Illyria, Connor and Lindsey, and instead introducing the rest of my main characters… yep, it's those girls who were secondary characters on the series but are getting promoted in this (Kate, Gwen, Eve and Nina).

_-(spacespacespace)-_

When the monsters and demons appeared on the streets of Los Angeles, the human population was thrown into a state of panic. Those who could had left town as soon as possible. But there were still a lot of people left in the city who couldn't leave.

Some were killed by the monsters rampaging through the streets. Some were killed when their homes were destroyed. Those who survived realised that staying in their homes was no longer an option, and headed for safe places to hide until it was over, one way or another. The refugees found shelter in hotels, hospitals, schools… even police stations.

Kate had been at the station for almost fifty hours now. She'd snatched an hour of restless sleep after the first twenty-five hours or so, when it had become apparent that what was happening was a) out of their control and b) something that the LAPD wouldn't be able to stop on their own. Also, she was practically falling asleep on her feet. That one hour hadn't helped much, though. She was thinking more clearly again, which was good. She just couldn't shake the tiredness. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face, and took a sip of typically awful police-station coffee. She was stuck in a police station with a group of her fellow officers and a couple of hundred frightened refugees, and it didn't look like the situation was going to improve any time soon.

The monsters roaming the streets were one problem. But the presence of the refugees made everything more complicated. They needed food, water, protection and a place to sleep. That last had been relatively easy, they'd turned every conference room, meeting room, and empty office into sleeping space. A few unlucky people were even in the cells, though they weren't locked in. Protection, too, was relatively simple. All the best marksmen (as well as some of those who were less experienced with weapons) who had been in the building when everything started had been organised into a defence squad, to ensure that the station was defended at all times.

It was the food and water that was causing problems. The station did have a canteen, but it was only equipped for providing tired officers with coffee and burgers and fries. They had _children_ to take care of, and even a few families with babies that needed formula milk. So they'd put together a team of officers to go out, get to the nearest grocery store, and bring back as much as possible. That first team never made it back – this had been before they set up the defence squad.

The second team did make it back alive. The newly-formed defence squad covered them as they ran to the store down the street. After that,they'd sent out two more teams before it got dark, and the remaining officers flat-out refused to leave the building before dawn.

Kate was in her office, drinking truly terrible coffee one swallow at a time, and trying to see a way out of this mess. She'd tried writing down what they knew, but that resulted in a blank sheet of paper and a pencil broken in half out of frustration. They just weren't equipped for this stuff, and enough weird shit happened in this city that really, they ought to be. Or… well, maybe not equipped for _this_, but they should have some kind of database or record or _something_ with information on demons and whatever else was out there. (She'd heard some of the refugees talk about seeing a _dragon_ soaring overheard. She personally refused to believe that until she saw it herself – demons was one thing, but _dragons_ were pushing her limits just a bit too far.)

She found her thoughts wandering in the direction of Angel. She hadn't seen him for a long time, and then she had heard, via the police grapevine, that he was the new CEO of Wolfram and Hart's LA office. She'd been sceptical at first. It wasn't exactly his sort of place. But then the grapevine also passed on the news that the firm's new CEO had been changing things and upsetting old clients – and she knew it was true. It sounded like Angel, at least. In normal circumstances, she'd have shied away from thoughts of a certain investigator with a tendency to brood. Now… she knew that the cases Angel investigated weren't exactly "usual". Downright weird, on occasion. If anyone would know what to do in this situation, it would be Angel.

If only she could get in touch. She'd tried calling the Wolfram and Hart office – there was no answer. Then she heard that the building had been almost levelled. She had a feeling that Angel and his friends had been involved, fighting the monsters that were out there… but she had no idea where they would be now, or even if they were still alive. She got up, stretched, and headed for the Filing room. She quickly located all the files they had on Angel Investigations, and took them back to her desk. She sat down and searched them for any clue that might tell her where they would go to find shelter.

_-(spacespacespace)-_

The day Los Angeles came under attack, Gwen Raiden was a lot less surprised than most people. She hadn't known exactly what would happen (what did she look like, a telepath?), but she'd kept an eye on the new bosses of Wolfram and Hart. Then several very powerful demons living in the city all turned up dead at the same time. One of her contacts had told her that… and then jumped in a car and fled the city as fast as was humanly possible (or demonically, in the case of that particular contact).

So when the army of demons marched out of Hell and straight into L.A., it didn't take a genius to figure out that this was a response to the deaths of those same, high-powered demons. She didn't know the details, such as why Angel & Co felt the need to get rid of those particular entities, but she didn't need to. She had enough to deal with keeping herself alive.

Considering that her line of work involved being in danger, or hunted by someone-or-other, on a fairly frequent basis, she'd set up a hideout, equipped with food and water supplies for several weeks. The hideout also had a good stash of weaponry. She'd made her way there as soon as she could, and had brought her remaining neighbours with her (most had fled the city already, but there were a few people left in her building – the maid of one family, an elderly couple, a family with three young children, and a recently-married young couple. She got them all into the hideout, telling them to stay calm and ration the food and water, and reassuring them that it would be all right, despite her own doubts about that. Then she had picked out some of her weapons and gone out to assess the situation.

Her assessment of the situation was: Not Good. She made her way back to her hideout, checked that her rescued neighbours were okay, and thought about her next move.

_-(spacespacespace)-_

Eve was not having fun. She was left alone when Lindsey went off with Angel, and she hadn't seen him since then. She'd stayed in the apartment at first, until it got too dangerous. She'd ended up joining a group of other refugees from the area of her apartment building, and her group eventually took shelter at a nearby police station.

The LAPD officers did their best to look after them – she appreciated that it must have been difficult for them, trying to deal with the situation outside and take care of what turned out to be a couple of hundred people. Personally she'd ended up sharing a converted meeting room with some other young people. She sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, and thought about Lindsey. She didn't know where he was, or what he was doing, or who he was with. She didn't even know if he was alive. For all she knew he might have been killed in the fighting.

She hopes he's all right. She wants him to be okay… to have survived what he did with Angel and everyone, and to have found somewhere safe to stay, so he wasn't out on the streets in the middle of all this. But mostly she just wishes he was there, with her. Now that she wasn't the Senior Partners' representative any more, she was mortal, just another frightened young woman.

Eve doesn't like being frightened. She feels weak, powerless. She's not used to feeling powerless. But she figures there's not a lot she can do right now. Right now all she wants, really, is for Lindsey to be there with her, holding her, telling her that everything will be all right.

_-(spacespacespace)-_

When Angel handed her three airplane tickets, Nina was offended. She thought he was trying to dump her, and shoved the tickets back at him. Later, she regretted doing that. She heard about what was happening, and immediately got in her car and sped home. She grabbed her sister and Amanda, and a bag stuffed with clothes, and got them all out of the city as fast as she could.

Nina, her sister and Amanda were travelling in one of the last cars to make it out of the city. They found a motel, and stayed there for a whole day, watching the news to keep up with events in LA.

On the morning of the second day, Nina took her sister to one side while Amanda was in the bathroom and told her that she was going back to LA, alone. They fought. Her sister wanted her to stay with them, but Nina knew in her heart what she had to do. She had to go back. Angel and his friends were still inside the city, and she didn't even know if any of them were still alive. If any of them were, she'd help them. If they weren't, she'd look after the people who were left there. Wasn't that what Angel did, after all? Helping the helpless, and everything.

Her sister was furious. She screamed at her, asked why she'd bothered to leave with them if she was just going to go straight back. Asks what will happen if Nina gets herself killed. Nina shakes her head softly. Her big sister – the one who always looked after her when they were kids – doesn't understand. She needs to help. She can't just stand by, in her safe little motel room, and watch while other people struggle to help without her.

She takes her bag – the one she had with her when they left, holding just her purse, a hairbrush, some college books – and hugs Amanda goodbye. She says a curt goodbye to her sister, and walks out of the door, gets into her car and drives back to the city. She has a long drive ahead of her, and she thinks about whether or not she's doing the right thing.


End file.
